v7c18: Song of the Forge

After a brief rest, we were invited back to meet privately with the Tie family. We were guided to the main hall of the sect. The table was a giant marble slab instead of metal, the Sect’s symbol carved into the center of it. It was myself, Meimei, Tigu, and Washy, Zhuye having tuckered himself out and was taking a nap with Suyan. I was carrying a long bag with me, which got a few glances.

“Master Jin, Lady Meiling, please,” Delan said, gesturing to the other end of the table.

Delan was sitting with his wife and Delun, as well as the other Elders of the sect. In front of them were dozens of scrolls—diagrams of blades of all types were drawn on them.

Huh. They had references they could show us of their past work? How surprisingly normal of a consultation.

Meimei sniffed a couple times and frowned, but at my questioning glance she just made a little movement that I interpreted as “wait and see”.

We sat down, and Delan went right into it.

“Myself, my son, and my wife shall be in charge of the forging. Father-in-law generally designs the decorative work, and my mother is the most knowledgeable of us all in terms of designing pieces,” the man said, explaining each of their roles.

I nodded, impressed that it would be a whole family affair. That was cool as hell.

“Excellent.” I leaned forward to give Delan my full attention.

“This is the material, Master Jin,” he said, pulling out a lacquered box. “It is of high quality—extremely high quality, for being sourced within the Azure Hills. However…” he trailed off and then opened the box.

I looked at the dull grey chunk of ore sitting in the box. It was my first time looking at an unrefined chunk of Spiritual Ore since I became Jin. My mind immediately classified it as “Spiritual Iron”, which was interesting; it didn’t tell me why it was different from regular iron, just that it was. My Qi senses still weren’t the best, but I tried anyway—and frowned at what my senses were telling me.

“That… does not feel right,” I said, looking at it. It felt… angry. Not a hot anger, but a low, ever-simmering grudge.

Delan nodded heavily. “Yes. The bastard nobles of Grass Sea City inflicted enough misery that the grudge of the enslaved penetrated the very earth.”

I paused. “I know little of forging Spirit Ores, but I assume that’s bad.”

“If unpurified, the grudge will linger,” Delan explained. “It could even become Cursed Iron—a wretched, miserable thing fit only for Demonic Blades. However… I swear upon all my Ancestors, it can be purified. It will be purified. It shall not fall to that fate.”

Delan’s voice was solemn, and it was clear that he viewed the state of the ore as something of a personal affront.

“I see. Then I’ll just trust it will be,” I said, nodding to the man. Delun was a good guy, and his father seemed cut from the same cloth.

The man seemed pleased with my praise.

“Then, please. We have records of everything we have ever created here—and we will meet your specifications for anything you desire.”

I looked at the first couple of pages, but they were all weapons.

“Truthfully, I will not get much use out of a sword,” I said after a moment. “There is something, but I don’t know if it will be appropriate…” I trailed off, wondering if they were about to consider this an insult or not.

I reached behind me and opened the bag I had been carrying. I pulled out my old friend and set it on the table. I had taken it along just in case I had to do some digging. Tianlan had mentioned some physical blocks, as well as metaphysical ones.

Everyone just stared for a moment at my shovel. I hadn’t even really considered it before Meimei had brought it up. Uncle Che had forged the steel for me, helped by Yin and Noodle. Han had used his formation on it to give it artificial meridians… which proved to be a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it felt even better in my hands… but also blared all the little flaws the shovel’s head had into my brain. Microfractures, imbalances where it had been repaired, and its slight asymmetry.

I had resolved to just keep using it, flaws and all. Tigu had made the haft for me, and my friends had made the head. It felt wrong to replace bits before they broke—and it might disrupt whatever Han had done.

“It can’t hurt to ask,” my wife had said simply.

“It is my most used tool. It was nearly destroyed during the battle on the solstice, and my friends repaired it the best they could, but…” I trailed off. That obviously caught the Tie family’s attention.

“May I?” Delan asked, and I handed it over. He studied it intently.

“Mortal hands made this,” he deduced instantly. “Skilled mortal hands, but mortal hands—no, not entirely mortal. The source of the heat has solar Qi within it, and it has… the beginnings of meridians? A nascent Spirit Tool?!” Delan looked stunned. Everyone but Handsome Man sucked in a breath. “Master Jin, you would trust us with this?”

“Only if it doesn’t harm it,” I replied. “Tigu carved the haft for me, and I don’t want that replaced. If the Spirit Iron doesn’t work with it, it doesn’t work. I’ll keep using it anyway.”

Tigu beamed at that.

“A true craftsman loves his tools like his children,” Delan said solemnly, “I will see what can be done.”

He returned his attention to my shovel and closed his eyes.

About five minutes later, he nodded.

“The meridians are mostly concentrated in the haft; they’re barely in the head of the shovel. Removing it without harming the current meridians is possible… and probably for the best. The introduction of Spirit Iron will likely complete the connection.”

Well… that settled it then.

We spent the next hour or so going over blade designs, with Delan and his son sketching things out while Liquin quickly carved wooden blanks in the style that we were looking for. Her father ran his hands over the haft of my shovel, and then carved out his own from a blank block of wood, matching Tigu’s style perfectly.

It was really neat to watch them all discussing and debating the best course of action—and in no time at all, it was time for dinner. It was another public meal, but the Tie Family’s attention was clearly elsewhere, all of them still debating as we ate, completely immersed in the design process.

We spent our first night there. And in the morning, the forging would begin.

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Tie Delan rose out of his meditative position. He took one last glance at the finalized diagrams, and committed them wholly to his memory.

The dawn light hit his eyes.

He took a deep breath and walked out of the meditation chamber.

Before him was a great edifice of stone: the Hermetic Iron Forge. The disciples had worked through the night to fully stoke the great furnace and bring it up to temperature.

Now, in the early dawn light, it was ready.

As ready as he.

He strode forth, his eyes focused solely on his destination. His wife and his son joined him quickly, having spent the night preparing themselves as well.

All three of them paused at the great stone doors.

“We pay our respects to the Ancestors!” he declared, bowing three times—and then Delan rested his hands upon the doors. He pushed, his muscles coiling, and the doors groaned open.

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A blast of heat hit all three of them. Delan let the temperature scald his skin, and his lungs taste the scent of the fires within.

Then, he activated their birthright.

[Hermetic Iron Body]. His body shone with the dull gleam of metal. His wife, beside him, was the same. Only his son was different, his body a mix of marble and steel.

Delan knew now that they had once been workers of stone, and that was where their true abilities would have to go to reach their full potential—and yet, he could not deny the fortitude of those who had their world shattered, yet still survived. Those who had survived in the Ironfields, who had crafted wonders from metal, were still worthy of veneration. Their techniques were still worthy of being passed on.

That was the new direction of the Sect. They were people of both stone and steel—children of the hardy earth. Craftsmen whose names would one day resound throughout the world.

“We pay our respects to the Tie Family’s Ancestors.” Delan heard their guests intone the words of respect from behind them. Rare indeed were outsiders allowed in this forge… but an exception was made.

They stepped into the forge. Into the heart of fire.

It was time to begin.

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Tie Delan took deep, even breaths. His muscles strained, his spirit roared. His hammer swung in a relentless beat. Sweat poured off his body. Each strike was perfectly visualized. He held firm to the image of victory in his mind, and each strike was to progress further along that road.

The Spirit Iron held in his hand fought him. The Qi within the ore did not wish to be shaped. It struck at his spirit. It deflected his blows if his concentration wavered even for a moment.

His son moved between each stroke of Delan’s hammer, his brush sweeping away the scales that formed after every blow. It was not true hammerscale, made of the metal reacting with the air; rather, it was a more spiritual thing, the impurities of the Spirit Iron leaving its form.